


He Can Deal

by Wolfstar4evr



Series: Supernatural Oneshots [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Angry Sam, Dean tries to be a good big brother, Depressed Sam, Heaven, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Lucifer - Freeform, Pain, Sam Winchester and Mental Health Issues, Sam does commit suicide in this but is resurrected, Sam has no self-esteem, Sam-Centric, Suicidal Sam, Voicemail, season five
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:15:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8352334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfstar4evr/pseuds/Wolfstar4evr
Summary: Faced with the fact he let Lucifer out of the cage with that voicemail ringing in his ears, Sam tries to do some good while waiting for Dean to kill him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I was actually pretty damn horrified when I realised I haven't posted since February. This is what came out of it. Some Destiel with baby Sammy will be coming soon, hopefully. I've got quite a few of those unfinished.

_Listen to me, you blood sucking freak. Dad always said I’d either have to save you or kill you. Well I’m giving you fair warning, I’m done trying to save you. You’re a monster, Sam. A vampire. You’re not you anymore, and there’s no going back._

It was an easy choice, really.

He could sit there, let Dean catch up with him (as he inevitably would) or even walk back to his brother with the last shreds of his dignity and his tail between his legs of his own free will, knowing all he was going to be met with was a bullet between the eyes.

Or, _or_ , he could attempt to save the world just one last time. Die doing what he was raised to do. Maybe he could smile about it in Hell, ‘cause that’s where he was going. The amount of blood he had to ingest to get the deed done was gonna change him irrevocably, he could tell. Maybe it would even turn him into a fully-fledged, black-eyed bitch. Wouldn’t that be a kicker?

So he could kill Lilith, stop her from ending the world and (or) die trying, or get shot in the face by his older brother, who just named him number one on his list of things to hunt by a fucking _voicemail._

Easy.

Or maybe not.

Because now, _now_ , he’s on a plane. A _plane_. With aforementioned furious brother sitting right next to him and Lilith is dead and Ruby is dead and he let Lucifer out of his cage and _oh God Dean is going to kill him_.

Whatever put them on here, whatever pulled them out of the convent and away from Lucifer literally _seconds_ before he left his cage, has completely stripped Sam clean of the blood. He can tell; he doesn’t have that familiar buzz crawling through his veins in such a way that makes him feel like he’s on top of the world and like he wants to hack his own skin off with his own nails all at the same time. He feels too raw; too exposed and aware without it, yet he knows he’s still contaminated. Azazel’s taint from when he was a baby is surely still there, lying dormant underneath his guilt and shame and self-loathing, ready to rear its ugly head the moment gets too weak to keep it at bay.

No, Dean won’t let that happen. Dean’s going to kill him before he even gets the chance to _think_ about being weak. Or, weaker than he already is, he supposes. No point in pretending he’s strong. No point in pretending he doesn’t deserve to die. No point in pretending he doesn’t deserve to be hunted.

He’s shaking, and he can’t make it stop. He knows it’s selfish, _incredibly_ selfish, but he doesn’t want to die. Surely there’s something he can do, _anything_ , to make this right before he dies.

Yeah, sure. Because Sam Winchester – mediocre hunter and terrible brother on his best days – can take on freaking _Satan_. He doesn’t deserve to live another hour, let alone another day to try and figure something out.

The plane lands and Dean hasn’t said anything. That’s fine. Sam guesses he doesn’t want to talk about what has to be done. It’s fine. Sam doesn’t deserve an explanation. Doesn’t deserve last words. He can deal. He allows himself a small positive emotion (a tiny bit of relief) when he realises whatever put them on the plane also gave them legitimate passports so they can exit the airport at wherever the Hell they are without any trouble.

Dean doesn’t speak during the four hour drive back to the Impala.

Dean doesn’t speak during the eight hour drive to Bobby’s.

Dean doesn’t speak when they arrive, just goes to the guest room and crashes and that’s it.

Sam stays in the car. Bobby isn’t here; doesn’t even know they’re here. No one will come out looking for him. Maybe Dean has just left him to starve to death, knowing him well enough that he won’t go inside or leave the property without being asked or told.

No, Dean wouldn’t do that. He loves his car too much. Whatever bodily fluids Sam’s corpse might manage to muster up would just ruin the leather.

Speaking of which, he doesn’t deserve the comfort of the car. Doesn’t deserve the slight warmth or shelter it gives. He gets out and sleeps on the ground. Maybe he can just die out here. Maybe Dean will just shoot him in his sleep.

He closes his eyes and hopes for the best.

***

When he wakes up the sun is too bright and his mouth feels like something died in it. He’s freezing down to his bones and something is trying to move him.

“No,” He mumbles sleepily, swatting at whatever is touching him. He doesn’t want to contaminate them. “Go ‘way.” It’s the first time he’s spoken since just after he killed Lilith; it comes out rough.

“No, Sam.” Dean’s voice is clipped and rough. It’s the first time he’s spoken, too, since then. “What the fuck are you doin’? Get up.”

“’M dyin’,” Sam sighs, rolling over so his back is to his brother and his forehead is dangerously close to some broken glass he’s probably been lying in all night. “Leave me alone.”

Dean tries to move him again, and accidentally touches his skin. Feels how cold it is. “Jesus _fuck_ , man. Have you been out here all night?”

“Mmmhhmmm.”

“Shit. I thought you’d sleepwalked out here while detoxin’ a couple hours ago or somethin’. Didn’t think you’d actually _slept_ out here. It’s time for a warm shower.”

“No,” Sam breathes tiredly as Dean finally manages to properly pull him to his feet, pulling his arm over his shoulder. It’s the first time he’s slept in days (demon blood causes _major_ bouts of insomnia, who knew?) and he’s not all that aware and his Stanford vocabulary seems to have gone out the window. “’M clean. Plane man took it all away.”

Luckily Dean gets the gist of it, and doesn’t question how he knows.

Eventually he gets Sam sitting under the last of Bobby’s hot water, which wakes him up a bit. He doesn’t get why Dean is doing this. He could’ve just left him to die of hypothermia, and he wouldn’t even have to feel guilty about it. It’s the only reason he can think of why Dean hasn’t killed him yet, that he’ll feel guilty afterwards. Because it doesn’t matter that Dad’s last order was _kill Sam_ , the order Dean got every day for over twenty years was _watch out for Sammy_ , and old habits die hard.

Sam tries to find a way to articulate this without his Stanford vocabulary and around the death in his mouth, but he can’t. Instead, he says “…you shoulda left me dead” and Dean doesn’t contradict him.

They leave Bobby’s without ever seeing the man, and Sam leaves the last of his hope and self-worth in the shower of the guest bathroom.

***

Eventually they do meet up with Bobby. Sam tells him what he did and his father figure tells him to lose his number. Turns out he was possessed at the time, but hey, it’s nothing actual Bobby wouldn’t have said.

Except real Bobby is telling him that it doesn’t change anything. That Sam is still his family and they’re gonna work through it. Sam has a hard time not splashing him with holy water, and he idly wonders if Bobby knows Dean is gonna kill him soon, and doesn’t want any regrets once he’s gone. Although that doesn’t really make sense, because Bobby wouldn’t regret pushing away an abomination like him. No one would.

Bobby is paralysed and Sam wants to die. Wants Dean to just get it over with and _shoot_ him because he’s too much of a coward to do it himself.

Dean doesn’t kill him. Maybe he can tell what Sam is feeling and just wants him to suffer a little longer. That would make sense. Dean could always read him like an open book. It’s fine. He deserves this. He can deal.

***

Turns out when Lucifer was let out Hell decided to spit out a couple Horsemen too. Great.

War fucks them over monumentally and once again Sam finds himself a murderer. He killed _two kids_. For _nothing_. Dean says it’s not his fault. Of course it is. Sure, he thought they were possessed, but that wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let Lucifer out in the first place. He’s a danger, not only to himself but everyone else too. He can’t keep doing this, so he sits Dean down and tells him that he needs to stop. He can’t keep hunting. He’ll get everyone killed. _Kill me before it’s too late_ , he wants to say, but he can’t make Dean feel any guiltier than he already will. He waits for the inevitable pain. He waits for Hell.

He gets Dean offering him the Impala and some weapons. The fuck?

***

Jobs are weird, he decides. Well, normal jobs. He kind of does a bit of everything in the bar. Serves, cleans, even cooks once before he’s told the food he made is inedible and he’s never to step into the kitchen ever again. He has a fling with Lindsay – who’s blonde and looks a little bit like Jess (who, weirdly, he’s been dreaming of lately), but not so much that it’s weird – which swiftly ends when Tim and Reggie try to force feed him demon blood after threatening Lindsay’s life in retribution for Steve.

That night he finds out he’s Lucifer’s true vessel, which is just the icing on the fucking cake.

No, scrap that. The icing is Dean rejecting him and telling him can’t come back. _You’re someone else’s problem now, Sammy_ is all Sam hears underneath _pick a hemisphere_ , and they’re basically the same thing but never mind. Dean doesn’t even think he’s worth killing at this point. It doesn’t matter.

He can deal.

The moment the call ends Sam pulls over to the woods and blows his brains out. Dean won’t do it; Sam can’t be a coward anymore. Maybe this time he actually will save the world.

***

It doesn’t work. Lucifer brings him back, as promised. He tries again with a knife in a motel tub. This time he’s barely dead for five minutes.

***

Something drastic has happened to Dean but he won’t talk about it, just says that he wants Sam back by his side and wants him to stay there. Sam just hopes Dean doesn’t see the new scars from his recent ‘adventures’; Lucifer didn’t exactly leave him totally unmarked while healing him. Or even, God forbid, the scars from when Tim and Reggie came back and found him in his motel room. Before he managed to get free from being strapped to his own bed they carved something diagonally into his back, and he can’t see it properly in the mirror but he’s pretty sure it says ‘antichrist’. He knows it will scar because they purposefully carved deep, dripping demon blood into the wound with the hope it would have the same effect as digesting it. It didn’t. It just burned like a motherfucker when they splashed holy water on it seconds after.

He knows he should show Bobby. He has no idea if any of the wounds are infected, or if they’re even healing right. But, dammit, he can’t fuck up another of Bobby’s – or Dean’s – friendships. Both his brother and father figure are good friends with both Tim and Reggie. He’s screwed up their lives enough.

Not that he’s sure that would happen. Neither man would give up an almost lifelong friendship for someone like Sam, but they might feel like they have to just because they see him more. Sam can’t let that happen. It’s better if they don’t know.

In the end it’s Ellen who finds out, and she’s never been known to keep _anything_ from Bobby. Great.

It happens a couple of days before they go to kill the devil with the Colt. They’re all at Bobby’s planning how to do it as they have been since Crowley gave them the gun. As he’s the tallest Sam is asked to reach up and get the whisky Bobby’s hiding on top of the cabinets in kitchen – the ones attached to the wall. As he reaches up his t-shirt lifts a little too, exposing most of the ‘t’ and the very edge of the ‘s’. Curious and – already – slightly horrified, Ellen goes to lift up his shirt, her fears confirmed when Sam freezes and turns around so swiftly he almost hits her with the whisky bottle and asks her what the hell she’s doing.

She’s having none of it. “Take off your shirt, Sam.”

“Ellen it’s nothin’, just a couple scratch-“

“So help me God if you don’t let me take a look at those wounds right now I’ll go ask Dean about them.”

His face pales, and his eyes immediately go into lost puppy mode. “Don’t tell Dean,” he whispers before turning and taking off his shirt.

It’s worse than she imagined. The word antichrist is crudely carved into the skin of his back in odd, mismatching letters. Some of them are outlined with burns while others are still very slowly oozing blood, having reopened again and again as he overused the muscles in his back for hunting or even menial jobs.

Like reaching for a bottle of whisky.

Kindly but firmly she directs him to sit on one of the kitchen chairs backwards so his back is exposed to her. She’s glad he can’t see her now. Her hands are shaking too much. “Who did this, Sam?” She asks, and she’s glad her voice at least sounds steady, even if she is anything but.

“No one,” Sam sighs, resting his head on the back of the chair. “’S my fault, anyway.”

Her hands clench now, her face flushing red with anger. Why does he have such a low opinion of himself? There’s no way in _Hell_ this is his fault. Whoever did it was going to pay, big time. No one messes with either of her boys. Or, even more importantly, Bobby’s boys.

“Oh my God.”

Sam stiffens further, but thankfully doesn’t move, and Ellen turns to find Jo standing in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes wide and jaw slack as she stares at Sam’s back. As her eyes flicker to her mother’s, Jo nods as she takes in the silent instructions to get a medical kit and Bobby. The man needs to see this.

Jo leaves to do as asked, and in the meantime Ellen goes around to Sam’s front and crouches so she’s at his level. Gently, as gently as she can with the anger coursing through her, she places her hand on his face, running a hand over his cheek in reassurance as he sighs again. She’s also intensely glad Dean is out on a supply run with Cas, and unlikely to come back anytime soon. Dean seeing this along with the rest of them would be too much for the younger Winchester right now. Telling Bobby is bad enough.

Speaking of Bobby, she can pinpoint the exact moment he realises what he’s looking at. Anger flushes his face just as it did hers, while Jo’s just colours with sadness as she wheels him into the kitchen. “Sam,” The older man says roughly, placing a hand onto the boy’s shoulder. Immediately Sam jerks, standing and stumbling back against the cabinets so his back is out of view. Bobby sighs heavily, running a hand over his face, the rough callouses on his skin grating harshly against his beard. “Who did that?”

“No one,” Sam reiterates, reaching for his shirt. Ellen gets to it first, holding it away from him so he can’t put it on – can’t _hide_ this anymore. “It was my fault.”

“Why won’t you tell us who it is?” Bobby asks; there’s no time to address Sam’s self-esteem issues tonight; they don’t have enough whisky. “Sam, they hurt you –”

“Nope, nope, I’m fine.”

Ellen huffs, shaking her head at this boy’s stubbornness. “Okay, so why are you protecting them?”

Sam manages to make himself even smaller against the cabinets, crowding down against them and hunching over until he is far below his actual 6’4”. “They… You know them.”

“You’re protecting them because we’re friends with them,” Bobby surmises, not a hint of question in his tone. Sam nods miserably. “Why the Hell would you do that? Surely you know we wouldn’t want to be friends with people who’ve hurt you, boy.”

Sam shrugs, suddenly fascinated with his boots. “’Cause it’s not gonna matter what they did when ‘m dead.”

The whole room goes dead silent at that. Not a word is spoken. Not a breath is taken. “Sam,” Ellen whispers. “You… You’re not-”

“Ellen,” Sam says, and _God_ she hates that tone. Hates how caring and understanding and _kind_ he is all the damn time. Wishes he would just tell her to shut the fuck up and mind her own business. Wishes he wasn’t comforting her while talking about his own death. “I’m… I’m Lucifer’s vessel. There’s no way I’m getting out of this alive. Either Lucifer’s gonna shove my soul straight into Hell or I’m gonna make it there all by myself. Besides, even if by some miracle we beat this and we managed to come out alive, Dean’s just gonna kill me anyway. There’s no point in ruining perfectly good friendships – which are few and far between, by the way – just for some guy who isn’t gonna be here much longer.”

The room is so silent it feels like it’s gone cold, and Sam doesn’t even seem to realise. It’s like he finds _nothing_ wrong with _anything_ he just said. Bobby is first to break the silence, his calm exterior gone for once. “ _Sam_ ,” He breathes, horror lacing the word. “You… you’re Lucifer’s vessel? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Ellen thinks it’s very telling about how these men feel about sharing their emotions that _that’s_ what he opens with.

Sam looks confused. “I… I told Dean. About a week before we met back up. I thought he would’ve told you.”

Bobby’s face is flushing that particular shade of red again, so Ellen steps in. “Sweetie, why do you think Dean’s gonna kill you?”

More confusion floods Sam’s face. “Because he told me.”

Bobby’s face falls into his hands, his shoulders trembling. Jo just stands silently by the door, her jaw down to her feet and her heart in her throat. Ellen thinks this may be what it feels like to suffocate. “What did he say?” The older man finally chokes out, looking up at Sam with an unreadable expression. “What exactly did he say? His exact words.”

“’Listen to me, you blood sucking freak. Dad said I’d either have to save you or kill you, well I’m giving you fair warning. I’m done trying to save you. You’re a monster, Sam, a vampire. You’re not you anymore, and there’s no going back,’” Sam recites, like he’s heard it a hundred times. Like it’s the first and last thing he thinks about every day. Ellen feels like she may be sick, especially when the boy adds, “I thought you knew. I didn’t get why you were being so nice to me.”

“You thought we were being nice to you because we knew Dean was gonna kill you,” Bobby says, and there’s no way to describe his tone except for _tired_. He’s tired of this _crap_ , this crap that’s happening to his boys. “And you don’t want to tell us who did that to your back because you think we secretly hate you but are still nice enough to throw away possibly decade long friendships just on principal.” Most of it was unsaid, but feels so obvious now.

“Well,” Sam huffs, like they’re being ridiculous or overtly stupid. “Yeah.” He scuffs his foot against the linoleum. “Could you, uh, not mention this to Dean? I don’t want him to feel anymore guilty that he already is. I mean, I know he has to kill me and everything but he still spent his whole life looking after me and I know he used to like me, so…” He moves forward awkwardly, reaching for his shirt in Ellen’s hand. She lets him take it, watches blankly as he puts it on. It’s only as he begins walking away that they realise none of them have denied it.

“Sam!” Bobby shouts, shocking the boy enough into turning around. Immediately he finds himself enveloped in a hug from Ellen, while Bobby reaches up and places a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re _wrong_ ,” He says, and there’s a new kind of gruffness to his voice. A new kind of raw, strong emotion that’s clogging his throat and destroying his pride. “You couldn’t possibly be more wrong. I have no idea what’s going on with this Dean killing you business but I am going to get to the bottom of it, mark my word. An’ you may think what you like, but _none_ of us hate you. _None_ of us, including Dean, and including me. Whoever did this to your back isn’t going to be getting a bullet to the forehead on principal; they’ll be getting a bullet to the head because you’re my _son_. You’re my boy, Sam. No one hurts my boys.”

Sam’s so shocked he seems to forget he’s being hugged, so he forgets to hug back and (thankfully) forgets to push Ellen away. She tightens her arms around him. Her heart breaks even further when Sam asks, very tentatively, almost like it’s not something he should already be doing, “So… You wouldn’t mind if I slept inside tonight?”

Both Bobby’s and Ellen’s grip tightens. “Sam,” Bobby says, his tone bordering on John Winchester. “I want you to sleep inside, in a bed, every night. You should already be sleeping inside.”

Sam just nods, pleased with the answer. “Thanks.” There’s nothing else to be said. Nothing else that could possibly make this moment better for him. He’s still sceptical, though. They could still be doing this just to be nice, and he’s not even sure he followed all of the conversation properly, or even if they’re real. Lucifer keeps showing him things he wants to see. Things he wishes more than anything were true, but aren’t.

So it’s no surprise when he wakes up the cold porch, and he feels like he’s losing his mind. Maybe he is.

Maybe he already has.

***

He manages to make some headway with Dean on the night before they try and kill Lucifer in Carthage. It’s nice. They have a drink together. They watch Ellen and Cas drinking together. They watch Jo helping Bobby set up the camera. They watch everyone else have fun.

Then the next day they watch Ellen and Jo go up in flames, and they’re back to square one. Sam sleeps back out by the car again instead of under the cover of the porch, and Dean doesn’t even come looking for him like did the first time.

It’s okay. He can deal.

***

Sam thinks he might be going insane. He can’t _wait_ anymore. He’s a walking talking liability. He ruins everything he touches. Everyone he loves _dies,_ has _died_ , is _dead_. Dean won’t speak to him, won’t touch him, won’t let them go back to the comfort of Bobby’s. Sam’s skin feels like it has bugs crawling under it, like it’s stretched too tight and ready to rip and let all the darkness out. He keeps trying to cut it out but it doesn’t work; he’s just brought back by Lucifer feeling worse than he did before. He wants to die.

He wants Dean to fucking kill him already.

But he can’t ask. He has to let Dean make the decision. Has to let Dean do it on his own time.

He can deal.

***

So, apparently, the only way to stop the apocalypse is to go back in time to 1978 and stop Sam from being conceived, and, _apparently_ , the only way to do _that_ is to kill their parents and either leave Dean an orphan or even stop Dean from being born at all.

Sam was all for the plan until it involved Dean and their parents getting hurt. Dean deserves to live a happy, good, life, and Sam can’t bear to be the cause of either of his parents’ deaths _again_.

Turns out it doesn’t matter. Sam is stabbed, he dies, but suddenly he’s being pulled from death and 1978 by _Michael_ of all people, and, _and_ , Sam didn’t even get to have one talk with his mother.

It’s okay. It’s nothing he doesn’t deserve. Except, maybe, _definitely_ , being resurrected. He’s never deserved that.

***

Tim and Reggie are bigger threats than Sam initially thought. Now, Walt and Roy – who used to be two good friends of not only their father, but _them_ – are standing in their motel room with a gun pointed at them. Sam can’t help but be, well, resigned. He thought this might happen, but he can’t help but feel guilty when he sees how plain _pissed off_ Dean is. He should have thought of this. He shouldn’t have put Dean in danger like this. He should have been a better brother, a better person and better _everything_ and –

Gunshots. Lights out.

***

He’s in heaven, but it’s weird. He’s at some thanksgiving he went to a bazillion years ago that he didn’t particularly enjoy. Sure, it was nice, his first _real_ family sit-down thanksgiving meal, but the girl kept trying to feel him up under the table and they were – to be frank – fucking boring. Within ten minutes he missed Dean and just wanted to go home to their sleazy motel of the week and it’s not something he remembers with any sort of fondness.

Then suddenly Dean is there to rescue him, just like he wanted a million years ago. Except this Dean is pissed and doesn’t seem too interested in rescuing Sam from _anything_. Then Cas is on the TV (suddenly Sam feels like he might be high) and they have to go to The Garden. How is any of this real?

When they encounter Zachariah for the first time Dean flinches and looks over at Sam like he’s making sure Sam’s still there, and suddenly Sam _knows_. He _knows_ what Zachariah showed Dean that was so drastic he actually wanted Sam back at his side. He showed him Sam said yes.

And isn’t that just a kick in the teeth? Because, just for a moment, Sam _actually_ thought that Dean actually cared about him. But no, he just wants to keep him human. Just wants to keep him from saying yes. Wants to kill before he gets the chance.

When they meet Ash Sam wants to throw up at the reminder of Ellen and Jo, his biggest catastrophes so far. And _God_ , Ash didn’t even _know_. Didn’t even know his closest friends – his _family_ , even – were dead. He can’t look Ash in the eye after that.

And Sam can’t even look at Pamela. Can’t look at her eyes that are finally whole again. Can’t be faced with the reminder that they essentially left her to die as they ran around being ghosts just for some kid.

Then Pamela is trying to convince Dean that the apocalypse won’t be so bad; that Heaven is a paradise that the world will enjoy for eternity.

 _Paradise_ is _not_ the word Sam would use. So far all he’s had is a crappy thanksgiving from when he was a kid, and as they progress it becomes abundantly clear that Sam is not supposed to be here. Dean, good, kind Dean, gets memories of them as kids, of their mom, of their _family_ , and Sam gets someone else’s boring family, a stint at freedom that started good but ended with him almost starving to death in the cold, and their father telling him _if you walk out that door don’t ever come back_.

And, _Jesus_ , they share a heaven. If Sam comes up here and _corrupts_ it when their time finally comes then Dean is just gonna live in an eternity of misery. He can’t let that happen.

In the end it doesn’t matter. God doesn’t care. God wants them to stop looking. God wants them to _remember_ , wants Sam to remember how _unwelcome_ he is in heaven. Wants them both to remember how _corrupted_ Sam is.

Dean throws away ~~Sam~~ the amulet, and something inside Sam – the last of his dignity, his life – dies.

He can’t do this anymore. Why didn’t Dean just shoot him instead?

Why won’t he just get it over with?

***

Sam’s going to Hell, he’s sure of it. He can’t see another way to throw Lucifer back into his cage. They can get it open, sure, Gabriel saw to that (God, _Gabriel_. Another name on Sam’s endless list of tragedies), but they can’t exactly just take Lucifer to the edge and expect him to jump in.

But Dean and Bobby tell him it’s a bad idea, tell him they don’t want him to do it. He gets that, he does. He gets that he’s weak. He gets that it’s a (huge) long shot, but it’s the way they word it. Like they’re not saying it to him because of _those_ reasons, but because they care about him. Because they want him to live; think he _deserves_ to live.

To him this whole thing is the perfect solution, though. Not _only_ will Dean not have to feel guilty about killing him, but Sam will be getting his punishment too. Nothing quite like an eternity trapped in a cage in the deepest part of Hell with an angry archangel.

Dean still says no, though, and Sam is tired of explaining, tired of looking for approval he’s _clearly_ not gonna get at this point. He wonders if Dean won’t let him do it because he thinks that if he, personally, doesn’t kill Sam, then he’s betraying their dad. He wonders if Bobby knows. He wonders if that’s also why Bobby is saying no, so Dean – his clear favourite, because who could love Sam? –can get his peace, knowing he at least did _something_ right in the eyes of their father.

Anyway, for Sam it’s not even a question of whether or not he’s going to Hell. If he doesn’t end up in the cage, then he’s going to end up on the racks. He’ll make sure of it. He can’t torture Dean with his corruption for all of eternity, can’t make him think he can’t enjoy his memories because he has to witness Sam’s. Can’t subject him to his presence until the universe implodes.

Yeah. For Sam, it’s not a question of _if_ he’s going to Hell, it’s a question of how it’s going to happen.

He might as well go down trying to save the world.

***

As Sam says yes he can tell he’s going to lose immediately. Who was he kidding? He’s no match for a fucking _archangel_.

So it _hurts_ , it hurts deep inside to watch Lucifer pretend to be him, to give Dean hope. It hurts to watch Dean try and lead him to the portal, trying to fulfil his duty to their dad. It hurts to watch Dean’s face when Lucifer reveals himself.

And being attached to an angel actually physically frickin _hurts_. _Jesus_. If being strapped to Castiel feels like being strapped to a comet, then being strapped to Lucifer feels like being strapped to the fucking _sun_. He wonders what being trapped in the heat of Hell with the sun would be like.

Finding out demons have been watching him his whole life isn’t as surprising as Sam thinks it should be. He already knew about Brady (and God, that hurt more than anything, finding out his best friend was not only a demon, but the demon who killed Jess), so finding out about his teacher and his prom date and all the rest doesn’t make him feel much of anything. Neither does watching his own hands kill them. He’s just left with a whole lot of nothing and blood on his hands.

He can deal. He has to. He made this bed, now he has to lie in it. Maybe for the rest of his life (and beyond).

***

Stull Cemetery is a nightmare come true, except Michael’s not wearing Dean. He’s wearing Adam.

Sam feels like he’s losing his mind again, that Lucifer is stripping what’s left of his limited sanity. He thought he had destroyed the world by letting the devil out in the first place, but that’s _nothing_ compared to what he’s about to do. He’s about to destroy half the world, about to kill at least four billion people. Just because he was too weak to say no, too weak to keep control, too weak to stay human.

Too weak without his brother.

Because that’s where it all started, isn’t it? That’s how this all happened. Sam was too weak to kill Jake, so caught up in staying _good_ and _pure_ , and he got stabbed for his troubles. Dean couldn’t take that, couldn’t let go of that old mantra of _watch out for Sammy_ , and sold his soul. A year later he was in Hell, and Sam had nothing. Nothing but a demon offering blood and retribution. What else could he do?

Sometimes Sam would wish that Dean would stop blaming him for _everything_. Sure, Sam broke the last seal. He killed the first demon to ever exist and let out the devil. But he didn’t break the sixty five other seals. He didn’t break the _first_ seal, the one that had to be broken for anything else to happen at all. Had Dean not broken, had Dean not been _weak_ , Sam killing Lilith wouldn’t mattered at all. In fact, it would have secured Lucifer’s cage further.

Inside of him, Lucifer cheers at the anger thrumming through Sam’s veins at this realisation, even as he pleads with Michael. With Sam’s anger, with the power that comes with anger, there’s no way that Lucifer can lose. Not if Adam isn’t even in his body. Michael has no soul to draw power from.

As he hears this in Lucifer’s thoughts, pure, unadulterated _shame_ washes through Sam. He has just spent _months_ wallowing in his own self-pity and depression, and he chooses _now_ to be high and mighty and self-righteous?

 _No_.

Though it’s a struggle, though _rage_ is now pulsing through his veins, rage directed at the glorified _parasite_ inhabiting him like it’s entitled to, Sam forces himself to calm down. Completely.

That, of course, goes to shit the moment Lucifer lays a hand on his brother.

Bobby and Cas made Sam’s calm implode, only to be replaced by a desperate sort of sadness and grief, followed by even more guilt than even Sam thought he was incapable of feeling. But no power comes from grief, only pain.

Dean, of course, as always, is a different story.

All it takes is one fleck of slight reflecting off the Impala, and suddenly it all comes rushing back to Sam. How he and Dean actually used to be close, actually used to love each other. How Sam used to be a good brother.

How Sam can be a good brother again.

How Lucifer is about to _kill his brother_.

It turns out power does come from anger, just not the power Lucifer expected. Especially when that power is mixed with love and devotion.

So Sam has control, and he’s looking down at Dean’s broken, confused face, and he’s about to do the right thing.

The cage is open. Lucifer is screaming inside Sam, clawing to get free. But Sam won’t let him. Because, for once, for the first time in his life, Sam is _strong_. Sam is not weak, and _he is going to deal with it. He can do it._

But he needs to give Dean his peace, so he spreads his arms and waits for the inevitable fall, waits for Dean to push him in. Waits for Dean to do what he has been waiting to do ever since he left that voicemail so many months ago. Waits for Dean to kill him.

But Michael gets there first, and he can’t let this stop, can’t let the apocalypse go forward no matter what Dean needs. So he does his best, does all he can, and suddenly he’s falling into the deepest part of Hell with not only one livid archangel but _two_ , and he can only hope that Michael was telling the truth when he said _Adam isn’t home right now_. Adam doesn’t deserve what’s about to happen, what’s about to happen to _Sam_.

It doesn’t matter, though, because Sam actually did it. For the first time in his life Sam actually did something right, something _good_. Cas and Bobby – while an absolute tragedy, and something Sam will never forgive himself for – will live peacefully in Heaven with the rest of their friends while they wait for Dean to arrive. The world is safe, Sam might actually be remembered _well_ by the hunting community once word gets around, and – best of all – Dean is finally free.

So, no matter what happens next, no matter what torture they bestow on him whether psychological, physical or even sexual, Sam knows it’s going to be okay, knows it’s going to be worth it.

He can deal.  

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for making that middle part a dream. I felt everyone was too out of character but I didn't want to delete it.   
> Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading.


End file.
